


Yesterday

by MirrorElm



Series: Ever After [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie is a great bf, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, insect hordes, losing a leg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorElm/pseuds/MirrorElm
Summary: Tommy's life as a nomad with his family gets shaken up one fateful day.This is a continuation (although chronologically a prequel) to my work Today :D
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Ever After [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837825
Comments: 18
Kudos: 35





	1. Pills and scarves

_Three years and nine months ago_

“Top of the fucking morning!” Arthur’s shouting rings through the small field where the Shelby family had set up camp, accompanied by the loud banging of two metal pans being struck together. Tommy had woken up hours ago and is just returning from his morning stroll. Well, it’s more of a patrol he does around their camps whenever they stop their caravans in unfamiliar places.

They’d usually move past towns and settlements without a second glance, much preferring life on the move, but Ada mentioned the ransacked state of this one town not too far last night. Apparently, a horde went through it and now it seems abandoned, therefore worthy of scavenging. The Shelbys are good at surviving on their own in the wilderness, but occasional visits to abandoned cities can be beneficial. And the horde’s passed through, so that’s probably not going to be a problem.

As he enters the camp, he can see Polly rationing out food for the day with little Finn helping her while Ada exits her caravan with a yawn. He looks around the camp for John only for a brief moment before remembering his brother’s currently travelling with his new wife, Esme, and her family, the Lees.

They’ll be travelling with them from time to time now, and there won’t be any disputes over horses, wildlife or fields anymore. Peace between the Lees and the Shelbys. It’s worth missing John for a couple of months.

Tommy greets the rest of the of his family and steps into his dark caravan. It used to be his mother’s. The faded floral patterns lining the dark wooden interior still remind him of her. He empties his bag enough to carry new supplies, then he exits his home and readies the horses. One last look at his guns, safety on, and a carrot for his horse, Dangerous.

Ada, Arthur and Tommy ride towards the city little before noon, leaving Polly and Finn alone at the camp. Their scents should be faint enough in the forest and there hasn’t been a critter in sight for days. Even if one stumbles across them, Polly is more than capable with her rifle.

The first thing they notice is the stench. It’s an unusually warm day for spring and the sun is blaring down on hundreds of corpses littering the street. Some are the creatures, but most are… people. The residents.

“Fuck,” Ada breathes. Arthur is the first to pull his scarf over his nose, but Tommy and Ada are not long to follow. The scarves were Polly’s idea and creation. They’ve got herbs sewn inside them to mask unpleasant scents, for when they shovel shit. Or stumble across rotting carcass. The three siblings are grateful for them as they slowly ride through the desecrated town.

Tommy can’t take his eyes off of the gruesome sight before them. So many dead. His eyes sting and he tries to tell himself it’s because of the wind.

“I- I didn’t know it’d be like this,” Ada sniffs, “I thought they’d left,” her eyes linger on a child crushed by some rubble from a collapsed building, “from afar it just looked deserted.”

“It’s alright, Ada,” Tommy soothes while leading Dangerous to a building with a post, dismounting with ease and tying her there. He makes sure she has enough shade, “we can go through the town regardless. Try not to… focus on the dead.”

“There’s nothing but dead, Tom,” Arthur croaks as he joins him.

“I know, but,” he adjusts his scarf, “try. I’m going to look for a pharmacy down that street, you two can search for food and fabrics. Maybe some tools. I’ll be a while. One whistle means all good, two means bad, three means run for it, okay?”

Arthur and Ada both nod and they head their separate ways.

There’s a dusty white building with a green cross painted on the wooden doorway along the street. Tommy enters and the doors open with a sad creak. Seems to have been the pharmacy, and a very well stocked one at that. How could a settlement this advanced not have ways of detecting an oncoming horde? Even the Shelbys have patrols. Perhaps they’d grown complacent. Well, it doesn’t really matter now. They’re all dead.

The curtains are drawn so it’s fairly dark inside, which is good for the medicines, and the stench from rotting corpses isn’t as strong. Still, he doesn’t pull down his scarf just yet. Tommy walks through the small isles, sets his backpack down, and checks the medicines on the shelves. The packaging seems neat and there’s labels with expiration dates. Painkillers, allergy medication, antiseptic, salves… there must be a lab nearby where they’d made this. There might be more there.

The pills rattle as he takes them, stacking his backpack with as many useful items as he can. The main thing he needs is gauze and bandages, preferably sterile, and he finds that too. Once he’s all packed up, he thinks about getting Arthur or Ada to help him carry more back to their caravans, perhaps look for documents detailing manufacturing processes-

There’s a loud echoing tumble from behind. An empty bottle rolls across the floor. Tommy turns and stares down the barrel of a gun.

The gun itself is held by a bleeding man leaning on one of the many shelves in the dark pharmacy. He’s not much taller than Tommy and he’s hunched over, one bloody hand clutching at his side, the other pointing a gun in Tommy’s face. He’s got short brown hair and a beard, but the dim light doesn’t allow for much of him to be seen in detail.

The other man is too far to disarm, but not far enough to miss if Tommy moves. He’s hurt, probably not badly, but still in a lot of pain. It might be enough to just stall. Tommy could make a run for it then.

“There’s no need for that,” Tommy explains calmly, lifting his hands slowly.

“Shut up,” the other man speaks, “gauze, pain-pills, now,” the man releases his hold to his side enough to set down his backpack and kick it forward.

Tommy nods as he slowly begins emptying his findings into the other man’s bag.

“Fucking hell, mate,” the man mutters, “not everything. I just need enough for this,” he nods to his abdomen, “you can take the fucking rest.”

Tommy’s taken aback by that. He’s been robbed before and no one ever just takes what they need. Not to mention it never hurts to have extra medicines, so why wouldn’t he just take everything? Who is this man? Nevertheless, Tommy’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he places what he assumes is an appropriate amount of bandages and painkillers into the other man’s bag.

“I can take a look at that,” he offers before he can stop himself. It’s dangerous, but it’s not like the man currently doing his best to stay conscious has the upper hand right now. Except for the gun of course, but that’s already sagging in his grip. What the fuck was he going to do? Bandage himself up poorly, pass out and hope for the best?

“Nah,” the man protests, “don’t fancy getting murdered for whatever fucking supplies I have, which is not much, right, so if you’d let me live, that would be fucking nice.”

Tommy smiles under the fabric, “I promise not to kill you if you let me help.”

Whether due to exhaustion or because he actually believes him, the other man puts his gun away and slides down toward the floor, nodding. Tommy retrieves his suture kit from his own backpack and carefully approaches the wounded man.

“I’m Tommy,” he says as he carefully pulls away the sitting man’s hand and hikes the ripped shirt up to gain better access to his injury.

“Ah- Alfie,” he grunts in response, wincing as Tommy inspects his side. It looks pretty ugly and painful, although not that dangerous. The flesh is crudely ripped just below the ribs making a long, jagged line, but the bleeding isn’t severe and no organs seem damaged. Tommy uses the newly acquired antiseptic to sterilise the wound, eliciting a string of curses from Alfie, then begins his attempt at suturing it up.

Tommy offers him alcohol to dull the pain and Alfie takes it gladly. Some whiskey from Arthur’s personal brew. Not particularly tasty, but it does the job. Tommy wouldn’t have offered, but the wound is long and Alfie keeps hissing in pain, jerking when his skin is pierced, making it harder to stitch him up. After some time, the alcohol helps keep him somewhat still.

“It’ll leave a scar,” he half whispers, focused on his work.

“Yeah, I figured,” the other man hisses when he’s being worked on, “nasty fucking thing, homemade barbed wire, and I, a fucking idiot for falling on it. Thank fuck it was only a small piece.”

Tommy hums along as the other man rambles about his awful morning, from waking up late to slipping and hurting himself on some traps when entering this town to scour for supplies, the slur of his words getting more apparent as time moves on. At some point, the scarf slips down Tommy’s face and he doesn’t even notice, but Alfie apparently does.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” the bearded man breathes, catching Tommy off guard.

“I- what?” he stutters, shifting his gaze towards Alfie’s face. The man looks utterly reverent. He’s drunk. Time to take the whiskey away.

Tommy pulls up his scarf again if only to hide the blush, finishing up his job with the sutures, cleaning the wound one final time and bandaging it up. He decides to ignore Alfie’s comment, instead opting to give some advice, “you’ll have to change these as much as you can and the sutures need to come out at some point,” he clears his throat to regain some composure under Alfie’s unrelenting stare, “you need to rest for it to heal well. Your group should take care of you for a while.”

“What fucking group?” Alfie’s head makes a dull thunk sound as it hits the shelves, “I’m doing great on me own, right? Don’t fucking need anybody, mate.”

“Obviously,” Tommy snorts, earning him a weak glare.

“I might take a nap here, though, if you would be so kind,” Alfie motions towards his backpack with a sleeping bag on top and Tommy rolls his eyes, but helps him unpack it regardless. He’d offer to take Alfie in for a day or two, but his family would never allow it. No strangers in the caravans. A simple, if sometimes cruel rule that’s helped them survive.

After the man is nestled in, Tommy leaves him with some extra bandages and pain medication to use _sparingly_. Polly would say it’s a waste of resources, but Tommy isn’t _that_ cynical. At least not yet.

With their supplies gathered and an unsuccessful search for the manufacturing lab of all those pills, the Shelbys are back in their camp.

“Still can’t get all those bodies out of my head,” Ada laments by the fire.

Tommy nods. His head has been filled with the stench and gruesome sight of so many dead people all day, it’s hard for him to push it aside.

“What’s done is done,” Polly sits down beside them on one of the blankets laid out on the grass, giving them a cup of whiskey each.

Tommy takes his drink and thinks of the man in the pharmacy. Alfie. He was handsome, now that he thinks of it, in an entirely unique way. Seemed like a man who’d been through a lot, but still kept his good humour, which is a rare sight indeed. Shame that such a small mistake like slipping and falling could end his life. Oh well, Polly’s right. What’s done is done. No use in dwelling on it.

“Thought I might go back tomorrow,” he says before he can think better of it, “have another look for the lab. Maybe I missed something in the pharmacy.”

Polly and Ada nod.

“I’ll go with you,” Ada says, laying back on her blanket.


	2. Spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor enters the Shelby camp.

Ada and Tommy return to the pharmacy.

There is no trace of Alfie except for some dried blood on the floor. Tommy’s glad that mad bastard survived, even if he is a little disappointed he didn’t get to see him again. Him and Ada search through the place more thoroughly and don’t find any hints of a lab, but do discover a couple homemade first aid kits that should come in handy.

The Shelbys are off again the next morning.

It’s early afternoon a couple of days later. Arthur takes his horse Ginger on a short patrol around the area as the others take a moment to rest at the bank of a nearby river. It gives Tommy time to check the wheels, the hooves of their horses and other things.

“Give it a rest, Tom”, Ada calls out, dipping her toes into the ice-cold water, “five minutes off won’t kill you.”

Tommy chuckles. He’s always been the most vigilant of his siblings and that’s because he’s seen much more than them. Yeah, the corpses sure are a gruesome sight, like the critters themselves with their shrieks and claws and dark blood. But none of the others had been out that night when the “river” had taken their mother. Tommy has learned a long time ago that the creatures aren’t the only monsters.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when he hears Arthur whistle.

Twice.

Ada’s out of the water immediately and Polly grabs Finn, shushing him as she pushes him inside their caravan. Tommy takes out his gun, crouching down and grabbing cover next to Arthur’s, looking towards where he can hear his brother’s movements.

Arthur appears outwardly calm, well, as calm as Arthur can be as he trots to his caravan next to Tommy, dismounting and joining his brother. He steps close, “we’re being followed. Not those pincer-y fuckers, a man.”

Fuck. Could be a sign of trouble.

Tommy nods, motioning towards Ada and Polly to go inside. He wants to tell Arthur to lead him to their unwanted shadow, but before he can say anything, there’s noise. Sounds like a horse approaching them. Fucking hell. Both men cock their guns and spread to either side of the caravan, ready for a shootout.

Who else to trot into their camp like he owns it other than that handsome fucking idiot Alfie.

Tommy immediately lowers his gun when he sees him, the man barely holding on to the ashen horse he’s riding, his weapons all stashed away. Not a threat. Other than to himself, that is.

“It’s alright, Arthur, he’s harmless,” Tommy stands and approaches the horse. Alfie smiles sloppily when he notices Tommy and… winks. Tommy hopes none of the others saw that, even though he knows Ada and Polly are observing them through their small windows.

“What the hell are you doing, Alfie?” Tommy grabs the reins from the hazy man and helps him dismount without exacerbating his injury too much. He should be fucking resting.

“Couldn’t just let you walk out of my life, could I? Plus, I kind of owe you for saving my life,” Alfie smiles as he leans on Tommy. He doesn’t smell of alcohol, so he’s not drunk, just… high?

“How many of the pills did you take?” Tommy asks, helping the man sit on the grass a little ways away from the horse, checking his pupils to see them blown wide.

“Enough to make the pain stop when I’m riding.”

“Polly,” Tommy calls out, “need some help here! Arthur, take the horse-,”

“Her name’s Spot,” Alfie interjects, “cause she’s got these pretty little spots. Like you. You’ve got pretty little spots,” he points to Tommy’s face, silently counting his freckles.

“Fuck’s sake Tommy, what is going on?” Arthur approaches cautiously, but still takes the horse’s reins. Polly exits her caravan with a set of supplies.

She stops dead in her tracks a few steps from Tommy when Alfie passes out on the grass. Ada peeks out of her caravan.

“What are you waiting for?” Tommy asks, a sudden panic rising in his chest at Alfie’s lack of responsiveness.

“Tommy, we can’t take a stranger in,” she says, voice even.

“He’s not dangerous,” Tommy pleads, “you can’t let him die.”

“I agree with Pol,” Arthur adds.

“That’s heartless,” Ada steps up from behind, “Tommy says he’s safe. I say we trust his judgement.”

Tommy fixes Polly with a stare. A moment passes.

Then another.

She sighs, shoulders slumped.

“Alright,” Polly steps forward and kneels down next to Alfie’s body, “but he stays in _your_ caravan and he’s _your_ responsibility. If there’s trouble, it’s on _you_.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the evening Tommy’s rearranging some blankets on the small wooden cot in the front part of his caravan, careful not to wake the snoring man residing in his bed. The cot in the front is small, he remembers having to share it with Ada when they were little, but he’ll fit just fine as an adult. He’d rather sleep here himself than let the bigger and injured man try and squeeze himself in there.

Luckily, Alfie didn’t overdose, just drugged himself into a deep sleep. He was probably exhausted, trying to keep up with the Shelbys for whatever fucking reason.

There’s a loud knock at the side of the caravan, startling Tommy and making the laying man groan, “everything alright in there?” Arthur’s voice is unmistakable if muffled by the wood.

“For fuck’s sake, Arthur,” Tommy yells back, Alfie’s awake now anyways, “stop asking every fucking hour. We’re good.”

Arthur’s been less than happy with Alfie tagging along in Tommy’s caravan for the better part of today, barely waking to groan and take a piss. Polly’s not that happy either, but at least she’s not pestering them. Finn and Ada at least love Spot, so there’s that.

When the laying man doesn’t begin snoring within a couple of minutes, Tommy moves back towards the bed, pulling back the thick purple and gold embroidered curtains to check on him. The bearded man is shirtless, because they had to redress his wound. It was inflamed slightly, so Polly put a salve on it to stave off infection and it’s covered by some strips of gauze.

He’s also not wearing pants, because who does that in bed, covered to his waist only by his underwear and the blanket Tommy gave him. Alfie’s posture is somewhat stiff, his right forearm resting on his forehead, the other hand tightened into a fist on his abdomen.

“You okay?” Tommy asks, sitting on the foot of the bed, trying not to stare at the broad chest in front of him.

“Just fucking peachy, mate,” Alfie grits out. Tommy smirks, “I can give you one pill, but that’s it for now.”

“I’d rather you gave me whiskey, or just whack me, that’d fucking work, yeah,” Alfie murmurs, but still takes the pill when it’s offered to him, along with the glass of water Tommy helps him drink.

When he turns to leave and ready his cot for the night, Alfie speaks up, “I guess I owe you for saving my life. That’s _twice_ now.”

Tommy turns, smiling, “guess you do.”

He’d lie if he were to say Alfie’s attention wasn’t nice. There’s a comfort in his casual demeanour despite his situation that Tommy isn’t used to. He enjoys it a lot.

“Hm, I’ll have to think of something special, then,” Alfie grins.

“Good night, Alfie,” Tommy chuckles.

“Night, treacle,” Alfie grunts as the other man disappears behind the curtain.

Alfie stays with them as he heals. He doesn’t really leave Tommy’s caravan much and the others stay away from him when he does, but he talks to Tommy. A lot. Sometimes they’ll both sacrifice sleep in order to lay in their separate cots and talk deep into the hours of the night. Well, it’s mostly Alfie talking, telling insane stories about his life adventures that Tommy’s pretty sure are entirely made up.

When he _does_ get to talk, Tommy tells him about his family, John and where he is now, the advantages of nomad life and other things he can think of. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t related to him or wants something from him. Because Alfie doesn’t want anything.

He never asked if he could stay. Never asked to be taken care of. Doesn’t ask for pain pills, but he takes them when he’s offered. Doesn’t even ask for food. He’ll take what’s given and if he’s left behind, he’ll deal with that too. The only thing he ever asks for is Tommy’s attention and that… that’s oddly nice. Tommy doesn’t want him to fucking go. He laments how fast the wound is healing.

One day, Tommy’s brushing the horses on a field where they’ve been left to graze for a while when he notices Polly enter his caravan. He swallows thickly, but doesn’t move away from his task. She’s in there for about an hour and when she leaves, she’s got that wicked smile of hers plastered across her face. What the fuck is she up to?

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. That evening, by the fire, the quiet family dinner is interrupted when Alfie grumbles out of the caravan and approaches them. He eyes Tommy’s blanket for a while before slowly and awkwardly laying on it, grunting as his back hits the ground behind Tommy.

“Fucking hell, that was more difficult than it fucking needed to be,” he sighs and Tommy can’t help but quirk his lips at that.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Arthur’s question is directed towards Tommy, who only shrugs. It’s not a lie. He really doesn’t know.

“He’s here for the family meeting,” Polly offers, unperturbed, “I thought he might have some opinions when we decide what happens to him.”

Ada turns to Polly with her eyebrows raised and Arthur clenches his fist around the spoon he’s holding, but neither say a word. Finn’s just glad he gets to stay for the “adult talk”.

Tommy turns his head at the groan behind him. Alfie’s brow is furrowed in concentration and he seems a bit off.

“Something wrong?” Tommy asks. Alfie absentmindedly lifts his right hand and presses the back of it against Tommy’s back, making Tommy bolt upright, doing his best not to blush.

“Just a little dizzy, is all,” The laying man says, stroking the back of his index finger over Tommy’s spine. Tommy only clears his throat and hopes the others don’t notice.

Fuck, this is going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying this series so far :)


	3. We walk together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Tommy fall shamelessly in love.

Alfie gets to stay.

It’s a long and arduous conversation, most of it a not so subtle interrogation of the wounded bearded man, but in the end, he gets to stay. No amount of willpower in the world can keep the grin off of Tommy’s face when it’s decided.

Once he’s well enough to ride, Tommy shows him the ropes and explains how things work in their little group. The other man listens intently, nodding and stroking his beard. It’s distracting, but in an entirely pleasant way.

“Also,” Tommy adds before he’s about to suggest a break seeing the other man getting tired, “you have to be less reckless with your life.”

“Me? Reckless?” Alfie retorts in mock offence.

Tommy chuckles, “you were following us on a horse with a bad injury, barely able to sit up. Yeah, I’d say that’s reckless.”

“Worked out for me, though, didn’t it?” the bearded man winks.

“Maybe,” Tommy looks away, “but if you’re going to be part of this family, you’ll have to be more careful.”

Oh fuck. What did he say? Damn it, maybe Alfie didn’t hear. The wind is rather loud today-

“Part of this family, eh?”

Fuck.

Tommy turns bright red, staring down at the grass.

“Slip of the tongue,” Alfie taunts with a grin.

Tommy smiles despite himself and leads Alfie back to the camp they’ve set up just hours ago to have some well-deserved time off.

It’s easy to forget himself around the other man. There’s just an ease to Alfie which makes Tommy relax in his presence for some reason and it makes him… conflicted.

Yes, Alfie is clearly interested in him. There was nay one attempt made at hiding that. And Tommy’s interested too, if he’s honest with himself, but he’s not sure whether pursuing something romantic with the strange man would be a good idea. What if it doesn’t work out? He can’t just condemn Alfie back to the wilderness.

One late chilly summer night, Tommy’s sitting by the heater in his caravan contemplating Alfie’s chances of survival on his own, dressed only a loose T-shirt and underwear, when he hears the other man enter.

Alfie grunts as he takes off his shirt and pants and practically crawls past Tommy, collapsing with a sigh on the bed. The curtains are left open and Tommy gets to bask in the roundness of Alfie’s arse. It’s… pretty round. And it looks firm. Very grabbable. Alfie’s deep breaths become his usual loud snoring within minutes, with Tommy following the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Arthur was the one working with Alfie today. He probably pushed him to his physical limits, not taking into account the fact that Alfie is technically still not entirely healed and Alfie, being the stubborn arse that he is, probably just endured it without a single complaint. Tommy wonders if he even ate dinner.

He sighs and moves towards the bed, poking Alife in his side. The other man grunts.

“You need to check your wound,” Tommy hovers over the other man.

“’s fine,” Alfie mumbles into the pillow, but Tommy is relentless, prodding the other man again until he sits up, pouting. Tommy only smiles and undoes the bandage.

“Looks good,” he says, replacing the old bandage with a new one. It’s dark in the caravan, but he can still feel the other man’s stare. He’s gotten better at dealing with Alfie’s eyes on him lately, no longer blushing like a virgin.

When he finishes, he pats Alfie on the side and turns to leave, but Alfie takes his hand, “stay.”

The grip is gentle and fragile and easily escapable but Tommy lets himself be pulled back anyways. Any and all resolve he might have had to keep this relationship platonic crumbles when Alfie pulls him close after they’ve laid down, pressing himself flush against Tommy’s back.

Tommy lets out a deep breath, “you’re persistent.”

Alfie huddles closer, nosing Tommy’s hair from behind, “do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Tommy huffs immediately, mind suddenly made up. To hell with caution, it’s been too fucking long and Alfie’s hands feel so fucking good. He turns to face Alfie and kisses him, eliciting a pleased gasp from the other man.

They’re inseparable after that night, young and in love, which is, of course, impossible to hide from the rest of the camp. Not that they’re really trying to hide. Ada and Finn snicker when Alfie presses a kiss to Tommy’s cheeks and Arthur gives the bearded man at least three threats a week, warning him not to break Tommy’s heart. Polly only smiles knowingly when her eyes meet his. When John and Esme join their little group with a child on the way, they’re quicker to accept Alfie as part of the group than anyone else.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Tommy,” Alfie’s voice is sickly sweet.

“Yes, Alfie?” Tommy doesn’t turn to meet the other man, electing to continue cleaning his gun on his blanket under the weak shade of a leaf tree. The colours of autumn have begun draining away the heat. Soon it’ll be the worst months of the year. Cold and unrelenting. It’s making Tommy tense.

“I got you something,” the bearded man kneels behind Tommy, his grin betrayed by the tone of his voice.

When Tommy finally turns, he can’t help but smile.

“That is one ugly scarf,” he chuckles, but there’s a warmth to his words. The scarf itself is hideous, several shades of mismatched bright red with obvious mistakes in its knitting patterns and obviously Alfie’s first creation. Polly’s been teaching him.

Alfie huffs in mock offence and tries to take the ugly thing away, but Tommy snatches it from his hand and wraps it around his neck, burying his nose in it. He probably looks even more like a child than he usually does.

“I love it,” he mumbles through the wool, “thank you Alfie.”

It’s enough to get tackled down on the blanket and peppered with kisses from the bigger bearded man.

“Alfie! The gun,” Tommy shrieks half laughing, knowing full well that the disassembled rifle poses them no danger right now. They spend the afternoon being sickly sweet to each other in the shade until they’re interrupted by John approaching.

“Time for another patrol,” he adjusts the gun hanging off his shoulder and smiles with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Alfie groans and heaves himself upright, bending down to place a peck on Tommy’s head before grumbling _give me a minute_ to John as he runs to their caravan to get his stuff.

And it is _their_ caravan now, isn’t it? Over the past month, Alfie has crept into every crevice of Tommy’s small wooden home. Not only with his smell and his possessions, all of them odd trinkets with strange and probably made up stories from his life before, but he’s changed the caravan in a way Tommy can’t entirely explain. The man has painted the walls warmer, knitted the pillows softer and coloured the lights brighter with his presence. It makes Tommy’s stomach flutter.

He nuzzles deeper into the scarf and finishes his work on the ground before packing up and putting everything back into the caravan. Polly asks for his help with dinner, a couple of rabbits Ada had caught earlier and he joins her by the fire. It’s getting dark earlier than they’d anticipated.

“We’re going to have to move south sooner this year,” Tommy comments.

Polly nods. They have idle chatter while they prepare dinner, when suddenly they hear gunshots in the distance. Immediately alerted, Tommy bolts up to face the source of the noise.

“Go on,” Polly orders, “Ada and I can watch the camp. They might need you.”

He nods and goes to get his equipment before running off into the woods. Another gunshot leads him vaguely in the right direction, but it’s the shriek that pulls his eyes to the right place. It’s dark, the striking red of the creature standing out in the forest. To its right, two figures, John and Alife, no doubt.

Another gunshot, the creature collapses. Tommy runs towards them.

“Fucking hell,” Alfie breathes heavily, turning to tend to their terrified horses.

“Fuck this thing is ugly,” John crouches next to its corpse. He’s close. What the fuck is he doing? Bright red means poison, is he fucking crazy?

“John! Get away from it!” Tommy shouts as he gets closer.

The two men turn their heads towards him. Alfie notices what John is doing and drags him upright and away from the dead critter by the collar of his coat.

“Stupid fucking boy. It’s poisonous,” he mutters, extending a placating hand towards Tommy, “we’re alright.”

Tommy still pulls them further away from the giant red centipede creature, checking them thoroughly before allowing Alfie to tend to the horses and smacking John across the back of his head.

“You got a fucking death wish, eh?” he’s furious.

“Calm down, mate, I’m okay,” John retorts, sounding annoyed and a little apologetic.

“You’ve got a wife and a kid on the way. No messing about with the critters, alright?” Tommy scolds. John nods weakly.

Tommy wants to continue his lecture, but Alfie’s hand on his back stops him, “horses are alright, let’s just go home, hm?”

He nods reluctantly, giving his brother one final warning glare.

Later that evening, Tommy and Alfie are laying in their bed, Alfie squinting at a book they’ve found in an abandoned cabin a couple days ago that he hasn’t read yet, Tommy tucked neatly at his side, tracing idle circles across the other man’s bare chest.

Alfie hasn’t noticed or has elected not to comment on Tommy’s clinginess after their run in with one of those creatures earlier. He can’t fucking help himself. The thought of losing anyone in his family, or Alfie, to one of those things scares him more than he cares to admit.

“You need glasses,” Tommy offers lazily.

“No, I don’t,” Alfie pushes the book a bit further away, the furrow of his brow giving away his trouble reading, “just the dim light, right?”

“Right,” Tommy huffs. After a pause, he sighs, “you scared me today.”

“Yeah, fucking amazing, my knitting skills, aren’t they? Scary, my genius,” Alfie gives up on the book, setting it aside to lay down and face Tommy.

“Not what I meant,” Tommy shuffles lower, pressing his face into the other man’s chest.

Alfie embraces Tommy, carding his fingers through his hair, “I know. But we’re alright. Not a helpless damsel, now, am I, dove? And neither is your brother.”

“He almost poisoned himself.”

“But he didn’t. We’re good,” Alfie places a placating kiss on the top of Tommy’s head, one hand travelling down his spine, “how about I get you out of your head for a bit? Can’t be fucking good for you, all that thinking.”

Tommy smiles and pushes himself into Alfie’s touch, his content sigh enough answer for the other man.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re a child.”

“I am not.”

“Put that down,” Tommy orders, making Alfie’s fingers reflexively clench around the large silicon sex toy in his hand. They ended up in a sex shop after Alfie noticed it on one of their rare supply runs in abandoned settlements. The man was through the doors and inside before Tommy could even open his mouth to protest and had a fucking dildo in his hands within seconds.

“Make me,” Alfie smirks, swinging the pink plastic like a sword, “en garde!”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite keep the smile off of his face, “I’m not sword-fighting you with dildos, Alfie.”

Alfie pouts, “shame. Then I get to keep this, I guess,” he winks.

“Just don’t let Arthur see it,” Tommy comments. He follows Alfie around the store as they examine the items that used to be sold here. It’s hard to keep the blush off of his cheeks when they stop in front of the large section with dildos of various shapes and sizes. Alfie places the pink dildo back where he got it.

“Thought you were going to keep it?” Tommy teases.

“Nah, not my type,” Alfie seriously seems to consider the selection, “anything you like, dear?”

“I’m not interested,” Tommy lies.

“Hmm, I think you’d like this one,” Alfie leans in to retrieve a ribbed black silicon toy. The way he brushes over its tip with his thumb makes Tommy’s mouth water and his eyes go dark. With one look in his direction, Alfie knows this is the one and he puts it away in his backpack.

“We’re going to have some lovely fun tonight, eh Tommy?” Alfie teases on their way out, idly grabbing some other toys as well. The anticipation makes Tommy’s skin prickle. Some lovely fun indeed.


	4. Your warmth is gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter with a critter leaves Alfie hanging on by a thread and Tommy lost in his fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this is the chapter where Alfie loses his legs. Some graphic descriptions of mauled body parts ahead. Hope it's not too horrible to read. I've never been a good judge of that.

John mumbles something under his breath about the cold. Yeah, it’s getting cold alright. Alfie can feel it in his bones. It hasn’t snowed yet, but he can barely wiggle his toes after only a couple hours of riding. He wonders how Tommy manages to keep warm, little thing that he is.

Tommy’s in the back with his horse Dangerous, that beautiful black creature, leading their caravan. Ada, Arthur, Esme and Polly are each leading their own as well, with the latter being the first in line behind John and Alfie as they’re scouting ahead.

They’ve spotted the Lees on the horizon. Apparently, they’re going to be staying at their camp for a couple of weeks to trade, mingle and whatnot. Alfie doesn’t mind. Means the patrols are divided amongst more people which means less work.

Which in turn means he might get to keep Tommy inside their caravan for a whole fucking day. He chuckles to himself. Tommy Shelby, taking a whole day off? Ridiculous, but he’s allowed to dream.

Alfie adjusts his posture to relieve the subtle pain in his back. Fucking hell he can’t wait to get off of this horse, pretty as his little Spot may be. It’s the cold, he’s sure of it. Makes his muscles tighten up.

There’re people approaching them on horses from the Lees camp. They’re smiling and holding up bottles. From the distant roar of chatter and music coming from the camp it seems there’s a celebration. John whistles in greeting and gallops towards them, entirely ignoring Polly’s reprimands.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Polly sighs from behind.

“Your blood, not mine,” Alfie playfully comments over his shoulder.

The woman smirks underneath her blue scarf, “my brother’s blood.”

Alfie likes Polly. She’s smart and ruthless and just the kind of woman needed to keep the Shelby siblings alive for so long. He still admires her for the things he assumes she needed to sacrifice for them and he can see that they do too, even if they’re all still disobedient children at times, John’s current behaviour being a prime example.

They enter the clearing, just a couple minutes away from the camp now. It should be all daisies from here on out but… Alfie hears something and stops. Well, he doesn’t as much hear it as he _feels_ it. It’s a rumble… vibrations… an earthquake? It’s so weak and distant.

“What’s wrong?” Polly asks.

“Not sure,” he answers honestly, trying to gauge the source of what he’s feeling on the ground. John’s far away with the others, they’re sat on their horses exchanging greetings and drinks and the others behind Polly have stilled as well. And yet there’s still… something. And it’s getting closer.

Alfie dismounts Spot with a heavy thunk, hoping the ground beneath his feet would give him some idea as to where this rumbling is coming from. He walks a few paces when it suddenly increases drastically and then the ground beneath him is shaking. Shaking violently one second and bursting open another.

He feels the sharp pain in his right leg before he sees the pitch-black centipede gnawing on it. There’s no time to react before the creature clenches its jaws tighter. He screams, thrown off balance. His back hits grass, the centipede now halfway up his calf with its maw. Clenching muscles. Tearing flesh.

Alfie grabs the knife from its holster and stabs. The shriek pierces through his ears and he keeps stabbing through the violent thrashing of a dying snake. His vision blurs. Doesn’t matter if he sees well, the thing’s four times his size.

Fucking hell, just fucking die. He feels his leg being crushed and torn open. The mud cakes his sides.

Just.

Fucking.

Die.

God only knows how many stabs it takes before creature goes limp, mouth caged around Alfie’s right knee, but it does. Eventually, the critter dies.

He’s lying on the cold grass, staring up towards the cloudy sky, the knife covered in black blood at his side, forgotten. He’s shaking, the pain a dull ache due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he still feels the blood seep up his clothes, betrayed by its warmth.

He’s not alone on the floor. Tommy. Tommy’s there. What is he saying? Alfie can’t quite make it out. It seems important. There’s movement. Sudden blinding hot pain surges from his right leg and Alfie only gets half a scream out before the world goes black.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he’d heard the earth tear itself in two, Tommy was off of Dangerous and at the front of Polly’s caravan within seconds, catching sight of Alfie on the ground with a giant black critter halfway out of the ground and stuck to his right leg. No one dared shoot at the thing, fearing they might hit Alfie, and coming close was a bad idea as well. The thing thrashed violently. Ice flowed through Tommy’s veins as he watched it ascent Alfie’s leg.

Standing there was fucking torture, watching them writhe on the grass, waiting for the man to butcher the creature with his small knife. The moment the critter’s dead body landed on the ground, Tommy was at his side. The centipede is black, so no poison, but it’s stuck around the Alfie’s right leg. It needs to come off.

“Alfie, we need to pull it off, okay?” he tries to stay calm, tries to keep the tremor out of his voice. There’s so much blood, “it’s going to hurt but we have to, yeah?”

Alfie’s looking at him, but there’s no response. Fuck. Tommy nods towards John and the other men, who then pull at the ugly creature’s head and body. The wounded man’s scream is over before the critter is fully off of his leg. Well… what’s left of it, anyways.

John and Tommy stare at the bone and torn flesh while one of the other men turns away to vomit. The bones are broken at several places and the calf is shredded away. There’s bits of flesh on the grass and in the creature’s fangs along with blood from both Alfie and the critter. The harrowing sight burns itself into Tommy’s mind. Blood pools on the ground.

“Tommy, snap out of it!” Polly commands, but he… can’t. He’s going to lose him. His handsome madman who’s been the best thing to happen to Tommy since he can remember. He can’t do this. He won’t bury him. Another firm shake from his aunt, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t register anything but the fact that the man he… the man he _loves_ is bleeding out in front of him.

Polly pushes him aside, “John, take your brother away. Ada, Esme, grab the knee, use your scarves around it to cut off the circulation. The leg needs to go and we need to stop the bleeding,” she reaches into her bag, “oi! You two! Some help here!”

John leads Tommy back towards his caravan, offering him water to clean off some of the blood. Tommy does so with trembling hands. The silence stretches between them as they’re leaning on the trees.

“He’ll be alright,” John offers silently, but Tommy doesn’t believe him. He keeps staring at the side of the caravan, where Alfie had added some patterns. They’d found paint not long ago and Ada and Finn spent some time repainting the outsides and insides of their caravans. Alfie had been pestering Tommy until he’d let him paint a small section on theirs. Didn’t turn out half bad either. Tommy wants to tear the wood off of its hinges now.

Arthur steps up to the brothers, “they’ve uh… taken him to the camp. Polly and Esme. We’re to bring the caravans in,” he glances towards Tommy.

When they park their caravans, the camp has gone sombre. Gazes linger on Tommy and his brothers as they’re ushered towards a dark and ornate caravan, most likely meant for the wounded. And the dead, he thinks, thoughts grim.

There’s commotion inside when Arthur knocks. Tommy keeps his distance. He doesn’t want to be close when they tell him.

A young woman peeks out, “we’re busy. We’ll get to you when we can.”

“Will he live?” John asks in Tommy’s stead.

“Maybe,” she answers uncaringly, disappearing back inside.

He’s told to go rest. Nothing he can do, hovering outside the dark caravan. _Clean up and lay down, we’ll get you when there’s news_ is what Ada said when she poked her head out. She gave him a weak smile. Never had a good poker face, his sister.

After scrubbing any trace of dirt and blood off of himself, Tommy collapses on the bed in a shirt and sweats. He buries himself underneath the two blankets they’ve got because, well, _You’ve got no problem with one blanket, right, because it’s not your heat you’re losing through the one is it? I’m the one with your icicle feet up me arse, yeah, so we’re taking a second one and as soon as it snows I’m adding three more._

Tommy feels for his feet. Cold. He’s always been a heat sink. No matter how hot the fires, how warm the day, Tommy’s body never had enough warmth to keep a healthy temperature. It was somewhat fortunate that Alfie was prone to overheating easily and used Tommy as an ice pack in the hot summer days. And even if he complained about it now that it was getting colder, Alife would never deny Tommy his body heat. But now… if he dies, Tommy will be cold again.

Such a stupid thing to start crying about, Tommy thinks, but still he can’t help the silent tears escaping him. He cries until he has no tears left, taken into a fitful sleep by his sudden exhaustion.

“Tommy?”

There’s a soft hand on his shoulder when he comes to. He blinks open his eyes and ignores their sting. It’s dark outside. Ada’s sitting next to him on the bed, “he’s alive. Polly’s watching over him right now. If you’d like to see him…”

He’s upright before she can finish the sentence.

The dark caravan is surprisingly well lit when he enters, hiding almost nothing from the gruesome scene before him. Bloody rags and tools everywhere. A saw dripping with blood perched atop a metal container with bones and flesh and… what’s left of Alfie’s foot. Polly is sitting by a cot next to the caravan’s wall, placing a fresh wet cloth on Alfie’s forehead.

The man himself looks pale, giving no signs of life other than the slow and precarious rise and fall of his chest. He’s covered with a thin blanket, but there’s no hiding the empty space where his right leg should be. Cut off right below the knee.

Polly nods to the cushion beside hers, prompting Tommy to sit at her side.

“Tell me,” he says, gingerly taking Alfie’s hand in his. It’s colder than it should be. Alfie should be warm. He wills the tears back down.

“We were able to stop the bleeding and the amputation was clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood,” she runs a motherly hand through the laying man’s hair, “even if he survives the first night, the dangers of an infection are high. He doesn’t have it in him to fight one off, so it’s imperative we keep the wound clean. We’re lucky the Lees are here to help us.”

Tommy nods, “but he’s got a chance?”

“He’s a lucky bastard,” she says soothingly, “if anyone can survive this, it’s him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to happen some time :P


	5. It's rotten work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie struggles.

Alfie and Tommy are mostly left alone in the black caravan. So far, there’s been no bigger complications.

Tommy mostly stays on the two pillows on the floor next to Alfie when he needs to sleep, refusing to move to any of the other cots in favour of being able to hold the other man’s hand. That way he can feel his pulse. That way he knows he’s still alive.

He helps clean the wound several times, heart aching at the sight, but not as much as it does when Alfie finally wakes up and they have to tell him what they had to do. It’s Polly who explains what happened after they sit him up against the wooden cupboard behind his cot with the extra pillows Ada had brought from their caravan.

Alfie stares at his knee as she talks. His eyes dart from his left leg to his right, as if his mind isn’t able to comprehend what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “there was no other way.”

He doesn’t respond. Hasn’t said anything since he’s been woken up other than groan in pain before Tommy administered his allotted morphine dose. They don’t have much, so the pain probably isn’t gone, just tolerable. Alfie swallows thickly and Tommy prompts him to drink some water, which he reluctantly does. He looks so weak and defeated.

Polly excuses herself and now they’re alone, Tommy is caressing the side of Alfie’s face in an attempt to get the man’s attention.

“Hey,” he says softly, trying to keep the emotion from his voice, “you’re going to be okay.”

Alfie’s eyes finally meet his, but he still doesn’t say anything, letting himself be pulled forward into a tight embrace.

Alfie’s recovery is a slow one. The month they spend with the Lees is spent in the dark caravan, the man often sleeping for entire days, barely speaking and Tommy longs for the days when he’d have to quiet the rambling man with his kisses.

After he’s moved to their caravan, his demeanour doesn’t change much. Alfie is lethargic and quiet even as his wound begins to heal and he’s encouraged by the Shelbys to exercise in order to prevent muscle atrophy. Tommy tries to be supportive, to understand, but he’s shut out by the bearded man. The helplessness of it all drives him crazy.

Tommy knocks on the wooden frame of his caravan before entering, “hey, you up?”

When he doesn’t get a response, he enters anyways, but kicks off his shoes in the snow-covered grass and tries making as little noise as he can. Inside his snug compartments he takes off the outer layers of his clothes and puts them by the small heater to dry. One look towards his bed tells him Alfie’s awake. Awake and staring at that same spot on the wall he’s been staring at for days now. Fucking hell.

“You’re awake? Didn’t you hear me before?”

No answer. Polly said to have patience, but this is getting fucking ridiculous.

“Alfie, a fucking grunt to acknowledge my existence isn’t too much to fucking ask, is it?”

Still nothing. Tommy goes to the foot of the bed, pointedly nudging the other man’s left thigh, “oi, anyone in there?”

Alfie only moves further towards the wall, drawing in on himself, as if he wants to curl into a small ball and just disappear.

“Fine,” Tommy scoffs, “fucking have it your way.”

He moves away from the bed and sits stubbornly by the fire for almost five minutes before giving up, shedding the rest of his clothes and joining Alfie in bed, huddling close but barely touching the back that’s turned towards him. Tommy presses his forehead against the nape of the other man’s neck, “talk to me, Alfie.”

“Nothing to say,” is all he gets in response. Usually, he’d let it go. But it’s been two days since Alfie has even attempted any physiotherapy and he’s begun eating even less than his usual meagre portions and Tommy can’t fucking stand to watch him waste away anymore.

“Alfie for fuck’s sake,” he closes his eyes tightly, “what is going on with you?”

That earns him a huff from the other man, “I’d say the one-and-a-half leg thing might be an issue, right, but that’s just silly old me.”

“The wound is healing,” Tommy speaks into Alfie’s back, “you’re getting better.”

Silence.

“Alfie-,”

“And what am I supposed to do now, hm?” Alfie suddenly moves to lay on his back, voice laden with anger. It’s the most emotion he’s shown in weeks, “hop along with you on one leg? _Get your strength up, Alfie! You’ll need it._ For fucking what? Laying around like a useless fucking sod. A cripple, yeah, black fucking hole of resources and time! Lovely fucking life that is, being a burden to everyone you care about!”

Tommy moves back like he’s stung, staring at the other man’s profile. Alfie’s eyes are set firmly on the ceiling. He’s breathing heavily from his outburst and there’s tears in the corners of his eyes, voice softer as he finally turns his head to meet Tommy’s gaze, “you should have just let me die.”

“You don’t mean that,” Tommy shuffles closer, hands searching Alfie’s.

“I do,” the other man is eerily distant in his voice once again.

“You’re not useless, Alfie.”

“Oh, really? What use am I then? Do you need me to knit you another shitty fucking scarf?”

Tommy pushes himself up, bracing his upper body on his left arm as he hovers over Alfie, the other hand on Alfie’s cheek to keep him from turning away.

“Your worth isn’t measured by what you can or cannot do,” he simply states, eyes boring into Alfie’s, “and you’re not a burden to me,” Tommy kisses Alfie’s forehead, feeling the wetness of his tears on his thumb where it caresses the laying man’s cheek, “I love you.”

Tommy presses down into a hug as Alfie sobs into his shirt, both men clinging to each other as if their life depended on it. Minutes pass before they’re able to part, Tommy pressing his upper body close to Alfie, mindful of his leg, nuzzling at the other man’s neck.

“I love you too,” Alfie half whispers, his voice low and strained.

“Then you have to promise me you won’t give up,” Tommy speaks into the other man’s neck, “you’ll try with the physiotherapy, the food. You’ll let me and John take you outside when there’s sun. You’ll.. you’ll fucking live, Alfie. No fucking negotiations.”

Alfie nods and kisses Tommy’s hair. For the first time in weeks, they can sleep peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was rereading it, I realised this is essentially: "I'll take care of you./It's rotten work./Not for me. Not if it's you." and I am fine with that :P  
> I know this is a short one, but I hope you enjoyed it :D


	6. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds a way to help Alfie.

Alfie is sitting on the grass, huddled up in three blankets. The snow’s been gone for weeks, but only now is the temperature outside somewhat hospitable. It helps that the sun is out more, he thinks to himself as he turns his face towards it to catch some of its warmth, opening his eyes once he hears Ada’s careful steps approach him.

“Brought you some tea,” she says and hands him a cup, before joining him on the blanket with her own.

“Thank you,” he accepts the tea gladly and takes a careful sip. Alfie draws in on himself slightly when others are close. It’s become a reflex, instinct, if you will, telling him to hide his weakness, to hide the ugly fucking stump. It’s healed well now and he’s doing better with his exercises, though mostly just to humour Tommy. Alfie still doesn’t see any use.

His thoughts must show on his face, because Ada’s looking at him now with that annoying sympathy in her eyes. Alfie clears his throat, about to change the subject, when they hear Arthur’s whistle. Both turn towards the returning Shelby brothers. In the morning they had said there were some parts, mostly wood, needed for repair and left to scavenge an abandoned town nearby.

They seem to have gotten what they needed, returning with two seemingly full wagons covered by a tarp. Tommy brings his wagon close to the sitting Ada and Alfie, dismounting and leaving Dangerous to John. Alfie immediately notices his nervous energy as he fiddles with the tarp.

“Tommy?” Alfie prompts.

“Yes, love?” the other man tries to sound innocent, hands working deftly with the rope tying the fabric around the wagon.

“What’s in there?” Ada asks before Alfie can, jumping up next to Tommy and peeking below the cover with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Alfie wishes he could do the same, but is stuck cocooned in his blankets, not yet trusting his left leg to hold his weight if he were to try and get up.

Tommy doesn’t waste time and throws the tarp off as soon as it’s loose enough, revealing… well, Alfie can’t really see much from down where he’s sitting. Not until Ada pulls out two crutches from inside.

Crutches?

Alfie would ask what the fuck is going on but doesn’t get anything out when he sees Tommy pull a prosthetic leg out of the wagon. It looks like new. Tommy sits down next to Alfie with the thing in his hands, dusting it off nervously, “we passed a hospital and… I thought you might want one…”

Alfie doesn’t know what to say so he wordlessly accepts the offered prosthetic and eyes it suspiciously in his lap.

“Thank you, Tommy,” he manages after he swallows down the tears, but anxiety soon pulls down his excitement, “what if it doesn’t fit?”

“Well…” Tommy starts, eyes back to the wagon where Ada is now holding two other prosthetics in her hands. She chuckles, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. There’s at least a dozen in here.”

Tommy looks down, embarrassed, “I didn’t know which one you’d like,” he shrugs, “plus, this way we have spares.”

Alfie grins, “you’re a fucking sweetheart. Come here,” he sets the prosthetic away carefully and pulls Tommy in for a deep kiss. Fucking hell, of course he’d go and look for prosthetics, his smart and wicked little thing. Alfie should have known.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alfie’s relationship with the prosthetics is a tenuous one. He seems elated at the idea of being able to walk again, but that’s easier said than done. The physiotherapy is resumed with a new source of energy from somewhere deep within, his stubbornness. Alfie is going to walk again. He allows himself no alternative.

Tommy now finds his time divided between survival and making sure Alfie doesn’t push himself right over the edge with how hard he’s going. He’s there every time Alfie heaves himself upright and he’s there when he eventually falls, soothing the bruises on his body as well as his ego. It’s hard work to get his man to lay down in the evening, but he prefers it to the alternative.

Alfie was wasting away before, even with his promise to Tommy that he’d try. He at least seems alive now. It’s Tommy’s job to keep it that way.

Alfie talks to his false legs. He’s tried out quite a lot of the ones Tommy’s brought, each with their own set of pros and cons and one that he deemed _hell child_ and is now sitting on the wagon _of shame_. The way Alfie treats these things, sometimes sits on the grass just staring at them all lined up around him, it’s really no surprise when he starts tinkering with them.

The _hell child_ is the first victim of his experiments. He stabs the fake thigh with a knife and peels back the plastic, making a thoughtful, if a little sadistic, _hmm_ noise as he inspects its insides.

Tommy snorts when Alfie asks if they have access to welding supplies, but figures the Lees have a way to treat metal. He makes a mental note to ask Esme.

The man changes the straps on his prosthetic, making it into more of a harness, adjusts the padding and rips off all of the synthetic skin. The metal inside is bent, welded and sometimes painted. He’s even found a protective coating so there’s no rust.

Alfie “gets to know” the plastic better and soon has his first success. A few unsteady steps still with crutches to help along, but it’s something.

Months go on, spring passes into summer, and then it’s autumn again. And as the weather changes, so does Alfie. His steps become more confident and his prosthetic more intricate.

There’s so many bolts and metal chambers for bullets and… is that a tin can with fucking tea leaves? Tommy kneels down and takes it out of its secure hold, holding it up to Alfie’s face. The other man is confidently standing in front of him, smiling when Tommy inhales the scent of mint leaves in the can.

“For emergencies, innit?” Alfie takes the can and places it back, leaning on the side of their caravan to bend over.

“Of course,” Tommy laughs, “can’t be caught in the wilderness without tea, can we?”

“Come on, Tommy,” Alfie ignores the mockery as he heaves himself up on the horse. Yeah, riding had been a struggle to relearn and it’s still not entirely without its problems, “we’ve got an errand to attend to, don’t we?”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The jewellery store is quiet when they enter. There’s shattered glass and wooden splinters everywhere, but the setting sun lights the place in a beautiful, almost romantic orange and pink glow. Tommy takes a second to admire Alfie in this light, listening to the way debris crinkles under the man’s careful steps. He’s gotten most of his strength back and has mastered his prosthetic to a point where you wouldn’t be able to tell if he didn’t deliberately expose it.

Alfie is once again the towering and confident idiot he’d fallen in love with. Tommy smiles softly, “better get on with it, eh? Sun’s setting and all.”

The other man grunts in approval, scanning one display case after another, searching for that pearl necklace Ada had wished for her birthday.

Tommy’s eyes wander across the different styles of jewellery, searching for his target without paying much attention to the rubies, sapphires or other valuables. They mean close to nothing in this world, but he won’t deny Ada her wish. Alfie, however, seems to appreciate each and every item he sees, taking his time in observing necklaces and bracelets. He goes still once he reaches a smashed display case.

Tommy walks up to him from behind, “you okay? Need to sit?” he places a hand on the small of Alfie’s back.

“Nah,” Alfie huffs, gazing longingly over the assortment of various gold and silver rings.

Wedding rings.

“See anything you like?” Alfie prompts, turning his head towards Tommy.

“I-,” Tommy feels frozen in place, “I mean… Is this- You-,” he takes a breath, “what are you asking?”

“I’m asking whether you like anything, Thomas,” Alfie shrugs.

“Just that?”

Alfie turns to face Tommy, putting his hands on the other man’s hips and pulling him closer, only a breath away now, “yeah… well… could be just that, if you want… or… well, can’t really get on my fucking knee now, can I? No fucking guarantee I’ll be able to stand up again if I do, but…”

He sighs, pressing his forehead against Tommy’s, “I love you, Tommy. And I’d like to spend however long I have on this fucking shithole of an earth with you, yeah? I guess I’m asking if you’d like the same, right… Would you… would you be my husband?”

Tommy doesn’t know what to say, his heart seems to be stuck in his throat.

“I know I didn’t really give you much time to think about it,” Alfie rambles, not meeting Tommy’s eyes despite their proximity, “and we can always come back here or find another fucking place to get the rings if you _do_ decide that that’s what you want, not that there’s any obligation, mind you, I’m perfectly happy-,”

“Alfie.”

“Hm?”

Tommy smiles softly when Alfie’s unsure eyes meet his, “I’d love to be your husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh so sappy and romantic, just the way I like it :P hope you liked it too :D  
> This is it for this part in the series! I have some of the next part (Tomorrow) already done, but I'm going to take a short break from posting, because life, and upload it when it's finished :D hopefully the wait won't be too long.  
> "Tomorrow" will pick up after the events of "Today".  
> Hope you're all having a lovely summer (Stay safe) :)


End file.
